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There’s a sharp pain in my head and face, and I’m almost certain there’s at least one piece of glass there. My shoulder and chest are wet from what was left of his drink, and I can see shards of glass twinkling from the corner of my eye as my chest rises and falls with my ragged breaths.
But I don’t move.
If there’s one thing my father despises, it’s weakness.
My brother was murdered, and it was business as usual the next day.
Weakness can be exploited.
And if my father sees weakness, he’ll do whatever necessary to make sure that weakness is eliminated.
“No, sir,” I say with a firm yet respectful tone.
“Then why the fuck did you allow Cole Reynalds’ sister to take part in the Elite initiation?” His previous question may have been loud, but this one is back to normal levels.
My brother—his son—was murdered, and my father practically moved on before we even lowered his coffin into the ground. As far as he was concerned, pushing for a fast sentence and trying to swing for the death penalty was enough for William James Keyingham.
If he was in my position, maybe he wouldn’t have done the same thing. Maybe that’s why I never told him. I wasn’t keeping it a secret, exactly. If anything, I’m surprised it took this long for the news to reach him.
But his level of anger over my choice is far greater than I ever expected.
“Victoria Reynalds will never become a member of the Elite,” I tell him, wondering if that’s his concern. “But in the period that she’s here, I’m going to make her pay for what her brother did to mine. I will break her. His whole family will suffer.”
“A member of the Elite? She should never have made it through admissions to James Keyingham, which I’m told is also your doing.”
There’s liquid in my eyes. The sting from it tells me it’s part of father’s whiskey, and the red tainting my vision also confirms my suspicions when I thought the glass had cut me. But I fight the urge to touch it, or even blink away the blood.
“I’ve had Gemini watching her since school. When she applied, it was under a different name. I was curious as to why she would even want to go to James Keyingham University, of all places. It turns out she’s under some delusion that her brother didn’t kill James Patrick.”
Something shifts in the air then, and I know in that moment, I said the wrong thing.
My father is on his feet walking over to me, and even though I want to get out of here, I don’t. Running will only make things worse.
Instead, I look him in the eye and wait.
My father stops in front of me, glass crunching beneath his slippers. He reaches out, taking the hand I’m using to still hold onto my glass of whiskey, and wraps his around it. “The problem with people like her, is that they are weak and stupid.”
He starts squeezing my hand, and I try hard not to make it obvious that I’m resisting him.
“The moment there is too much pressure…” He squeezes so hard, the glass implodes in my hand, raining whiskey and glass down over our feet. My father doesn’t flinch, nor does he let go, continuing to squeeze his hand around mine like a vice. “Things shatter.”
I wasn’t quick enough to empty my hand when the glass broke. Shards scattering can be seen as much as felt as they slice through my skin. I’m almost certain my father is pushing them to the bone, and the pain is agonizing. Blood fills my mouth as I bite down on anything to keep myself from even responding.
“And the problem with things that shatter, is that even the smallest of pieces can leave lasting marks. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
My father gives one last squeeze before he releases my hand and steps back. “James Patrick was murdered, but we are lucky, because the scum who murdered him is rotting in jail, and his family is rotting below the poverty line with him. The XXXVII worked hard to make sure we had justice without this being linked back to us, so that you can one day take up residence in the White House. So, when you get back to college, you make sure that she is gone, so nothing will crop up in ten years’ time to jeopardize that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
I wait until my father has left the room and closed the door behind him before I uncurl my fingers. Bright red blood is pools in my hand, staining my skin and the glass shards that are buried deep into my palm. I can’t feel pain—I can’t feel anything.
XXXI
Tori
“Nothing?” Payne repeats. “You were there a week, yet you still have nothing?”
